


All the flowers in the world are withering

by plantago



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Happy Ending?, I mean it's still the zombie apocalypse so how happy can it be right?, References to Death and Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, it's never said outright but it's implied, very minor swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantago/pseuds/plantago
Summary: Dowoon squints his eyes against the harsh sun as he steps out of his shelter. The day is hot and the birds are singing sweetly. Dowoon isn't listening to them, though. He's more focused on surviving through the morning.





	All the flowers in the world are withering

Dowoon steps out of the shade of his temporary shelter, blinking his eyes in the bright light. It’s summer, a fact that the Earth is not neglecting to remind him. The sun beats down mercilessly on the hot Earth. Trees sway in the gentle wind, leaves whispering secrets to the breeze.

  
He looks around cautiously before edging further from the relatively safe area. You can never be too careful. Dowoon knows this. He learned this the hard way. He has the scars to prove it.

  
He walks into the empty space before him, body tense, eyes darting from side to side. He is wary of going out, he always is. But he needs water. He needs it so desperately that his throat constricts and his head spins when he even thinks about it. He ventures into the wilderness, tracing the path that he must take to get to the river in his mind. He can see it so clearly that his mouth hurts.

  
He stalks through the overgrown greenery that has taken over the world, wincing at every small sound he makes. It wasn’t always like this, he supposes. Before the disease, people lived in these stone shells that are now just empty reminders of the past. People, like him, Dowoon supposes, still use the hollow husks of the buildings for temporary shelters, but no one stays for long. This is life now. Always on the run.

  
There is nowhere to run. There is no reason to run from something that you can never escape. But it gives people a purpose, makes them feel like at least they’re not welcoming death with open arms. If you don’t run, you die. Well, you die sooner, that is.

  
Dowoon thinks as he walks. He has a lot of time to think, so he thinks a lot. He thinks about what life was like before the disease. Before half of the population died and a quarter was left with a life worse than death. He wasn’t alive back then, but he likes to think about it. He likes to think about living without having to be on alert for an attack at any moment. He likes to think about living in one of these stone mammoths. He likes to think about living with his family.

  
He is alone.

  
Dowoon hears a noise akin to scampering to his left. He spins, his stomach lurching in protest. He reaches for his knife.

  
He sees no one. It could have been an animal, he reasons with himself as he takes a shaking breath of the heavy, humid air.

  
He keeps a tight grip on his weapon as he moves forward at a quicker pace. He hears a shuffling noise as he’s passing a building. He sprints to the empty door frame, and skids in, body catching on cobwebs as he runs through.

  
It’s _them_. It’s _them_. It’s them who killed his family, his friends. It’s them who won’t hesitate to kill him. They may not be the ones who killed his hope, but they’re all the same. They aren’t individual. They aren’t people. At least not any more.

  
Trembling, he waits in the cool, wet room for them to pass. Despite the sweat trickling down his skin, he shivers. He doesn’t think. Can’t think. Can’t move. He is paralyzed with fear. His breathing falters as he hears them approach his refuge.

  
They shuffle past, the sounds of their low groans quieting with distance.

  
Dowoon falls to his knees and puts his head between his shaking legs. A quiet whimper escapes his lips.

  
His head jerks up as he hears one of them making their way to his building. How could he have not known that one hadn’t left? His noise must have alerted it to his presence. Shit. Shit. _Shit_. The speed of his breathing picks up as he drags himself from the floor, the knife tightly gripped in his sweaty hand.

  
He’s killed before. He can do it again.

  
It steps into the room. Dusty light filters in through the ruined windows. Dowoon gasps. It’s a human. A boy, a few years older than himself, probably. The last time he saw a human was when... he blinks the gruesome thought away and stares at the boy.

  
“I’m Younghyun,” the boy offers after an infinite moment of matched gazes and strong heart beats.

  
Dowoon blinks. Blinks again. It’s too much. His eyes well up and overflow, salty tears flowing down his dirty face as he sinks to the floor. Younghyun kneels next to him.

  
“It’s ok,” he says in a soft voice, “are you alone?”

  
Dowoon nods, unable to speak.

  
“Me too,” Younghyun says. The two sit for a while in silence only broken by Dowoon’s sniffling.

  
When Dowoon calms down, Younghyun places his hand on Dowoon’s back.

  
“Come with me,” he implores softly, “let’s be each other’s.”

  
Dowoon looks up at Younghyun with a tear stained face and nods slowly. Younghyun stands up, offering Dowoon a hand. Dowoon takes it and pulls himself up.

  
“I’m Dowoon,” he murmurs.

  
“Dowoon,” Younghyun repeats, “welcome to the family.” His grin is brighter than the sun.

  
For the first time in what feels like years, a slow smile spreads over Dowoon’s face. His grip on the other boy’s hand tightens.

  
“We’ll be ok,” he whispers. Younghyun nods and smiles at him gently.

  
“We’ll be ok.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I haven't uploaded in ages, and this is really different from what I've posted before, huh? I'm pretty happy with it though.  
> There were no Day6 zombie apocalypse fics?? So I figured that I should change that haha.
> 
> Title taken from 'Dystopia' by Cross Gene.


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